by Liz Fielding
He went white. “She told you that?”
“No, I saw that. He’s unhappy, too.”
“Is that what you sold to Steven Pike? Not just your friend’s wedding, but hints of a royal scandal as well?”
“Steven?”
“You met him at the Three Bells.” He took a piece of paper from his pocket and held it out to her so that she could read the offers he’d made. His first crossed out for a higher sum.
“Jennifer gave you that.”
“Does it matter where I got it?”
She shook her head, because it didn’t. If he believed that she’d taken the modern equivalent of thirty pieces of silver nothing mattered.
“You never asked why he sacked me, Fredrik.”
“I assumed staff cutbacks.”
“You didn’t check to make sure I hadn’t been pilfering the petty cash? Selling our scoops to other magazines?” He didn’t answer. “I struggled to find a job after university. I had planned to join the BBC or CNN and become a serious news journalist but the recession was biting deep and no one was hiring. I took whatever jobs I could get. The Three Bells kitchen isn’t the first one I’ve cleaned.”
“So?”
“I was walking home late one night when I saw an old lady, well the worse for drink, sitting in the gutter. She was crying so I stopped and sat with her for a while. When she was able to stand I took her back to my bedsit, gave her tea and put her to bed.”
“If that’s true you were taking a risk.”
“Not really. I’d recognized her.” She named a much-loved actress. “The next morning she talked to me. She’d always had a drink problem, apparently. She’d managed to keep it under control but her beloved dog had died. Over breakfast she asked about my dreams and a week later I had a call from the editor of Celebrity – not Steven Pike, his predecessor, offering me job. Apparently he and the actress were old friends and she’d called him, asked him to give me a chance.”
“What’s that –”
“Three years later I was at a wedding and I found the same woman slumped behind the marquee. I helped her into the hotel, found her a room so that she could sleep it off. A week later I was walked to the door with the contents of my desk drawer in a cardboard box.”
“What had changed?”
“The magazine had been taken over. Steve Pike was the new editor and the tone had been shifting downwards. Fewer high society weddings, more sleazy gossip.”
“You were sacked for helping her?”
“I was sacked because not only didn’t I take a picture of her lying on the grass clutching an empty champagne bottle and send in the story but, far worse, someone else took a photograph of her being helped into the hotel by a ‘good Samaritan’ and sold it to Glitz.”
“And the meeting?”
“I’d been ignoring his calls so he turned up at the Three Bells a few days ago ...” She shook her head. “He didn’t get anything from me but apparently Jennifer had lifted that mock-up from my bag weeks before.” She picked up the offending article and held it up for him to see. “The photograph, in case you’re actually interested, is me at my sixth birthday party.”
“Jennifer gave it to him?”
“I have only circumstantial evidence.”
He swore again. “She made a point of telling me about you seeing Pike,” he said. “She used that piece of paper as a bookmark. Why would she want to hurt you?”
She shrugged. “Jealousy?”
“If you’d told me ...”
“He made me an offer; I turned him down. Clearly I should have torn up that piece of paper but I didn’t think it was important enough for such dramatics. If you knew me, if you trusted me, Fredrik, I wouldn’t have to tell you that.”
“It’s your job, Ally.”
His words echoed around the room like the clang of a stone hitting a bucket.
“It was.”
If he’d been listening he’d know that she’d never used her job to hurt people but, in the end, they were just words, meaningless without trust and they had both been short of that when it had mattered.
For a moment the only sound was that of a blackbird’s lyrical song filling the garden. Not a love song but a male on the defensive, warning off other birds who might want to take over his territory.
They were all on the defensive, Fredrik thought as he looked at the picture of the little girl about to blow out the candles on her birthday cake, her dark hair cut in little fringe, big green-gold eyes smiling with excitement.
Convinced he’d been suckered by a woman playing a clever game, he’d barely glanced at it in the pub. Her face was no longer that round, she didn’t have a gap in her teeth, but the smile was unmistakable.
The word he used was an old San Michele dialect, but the meaning was clear enough.
He’d flung back her own words to him, her reason for not telling him when Hope had needed time, space with Jonas to work through her future. The difference was that she’d been putting her friend – a woman she’d known since she was a child, a woman she loved – first.
He had allowed his natural cynicism to over-ride everything he knew, felt about Ally.
He was an idiot and if he lost her, he had no one but himself to blame.
“I’m so sorry, Ally. I barged in without giving you a chance to explain.”
“I’m sorry too, Fredrik.” Her tone was cool, not icy, merely studiedly indifferent.
“You didn’t trust me,” he said, attempting to win back some ground, get back to where they were. He realized his mistake the moment the words were out of his mouth.
“So what are you suggesting?” she asked, and this time there was definitely ice. Thin, razor-sharp shards of ice in every word. “That it’s my turn to take you miles from anywhere and shag your brains out until you trust me?”
Trust. She’d told him that first night in San Michele that she had never used her job to hurt people but, in the end, they were just words, meaningless without trust and they had both been short of that when it had mattered.
With absolutely nothing left to lose he said, “If that’s an offer I’ll take it.”
“Right now,” she said, “I have more pressing problems.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
She told him in the minimum number of words about her hen party concerns. That if Jennifer had been through her bag and found the booking ...
“I’ll talk to her –”
“No! She’s involved with catering the Wedding on the Green. Getting that sorted without offending anyone has taken diplomacy to a whole new level.”
“And Steven Pike?”
“He’d just deny all knowledge.”
“What the devil do you want me to do, then?”
“Your job.”
“In that case you’ll have to tell me what’s involved.”
“A dozen friends having facials, nail jobs, good food and champagne. I’ll email you the list for your security officers.”
“Is it an overnight stay?”
“No. It’s just from eight o’clock until midnight. Anyone who’s coming a long distance is staying at the Hall.”
The phone rang, rescuing her from this nightmare conversation. Ally answered, picked it, said, “One moment.” Then, holding it to her chest, she said, “Is that all?”
Fredrik didn’t move for what seemed like a year, but then he turned and walked out.
Ally twitched at the quiet click as the door closed behind him then sucked in a long, painful breath, lifted the phone, her voice very nearly breaking as she said, “Mum ...”
“Ally? Are you okay?”
“Fine,” she said, grabbing a tissue to catch the flow of tears pouring down her face. “I’m fine. What can I do for you?”
“I just had a call from your Aunt Celia. Apparently there’s a picture of you on your sixth birthday in this week’s Celebrity.”
She sniffed, managed a half laugh. “I know. I’m just going to tweet Steve Pike
and let him know how thrilled I am.”
Fredrik drove back to Westonbury Court barely conscious of how he’d got there. How could his life have taken a nosedive over a cliff in the space of a couple of hours? If he’d gone straight to the Hall, or to her home ...
How could he have been so crass?
Okay, so he’d been hurt that she hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him that Hope and Jonas had disappeared, but she’d been protecting her friend. That’s what she always did. She’d protected Nico when, his tongue loosened by an excess of champagne, he’d unburdened himself to her. She’d protected that old actress. She hadn’t needed the wedding; she’d kept heaven alone knew how many secrets that could have made her a fortune. Instead she’d been cleaning Jennifer Harmon’s kitchen for a pittance.
One thing was certain. If you weren’t sure about the future, losing it certainly focused the mind.
Ally had turned off her phone’s ringtone as she walked the green with the village groundsman on Friday morning, discussing the final details of the layout of the marquee, dance floor, bandstand and carousel for the Wedding on the Green.
He’d done it all a dozen times before for the village fete and, once she realized she was just there to nod and say yes, she handed over the list of stallholders and told him to get on with it.
With nothing demanding her attention for the next ten minutes, she crossed to the bench where she and Fredrik had talked that first night.
She took out her phone, not sure whether she wanted there to be a text from Fredrik or whether she never wanted to hear from him again. The heart-drop when there was nothing was answer enough.
She leaned back against the bench remembering that night. How he’d encouraged her to talk – ironic in the circumstances. How, conscious of her fear, he’d kissed her hand when any other man would have gone for the kind of goodnight kiss that would have kept the neighbours gossiping for weeks. She was pretty sure that she’d fallen in love with him right there.
Her phone rang. Number withheld. Another journalist wanting a “quote” from the royal bride-to-be, no doubt.
“Ally Parker.”
“I just wanted you to know that you can go ahead with your spa party.”
She wanted to ask him how he could be sure. The words were on the tip of her tongue but she clamped her teeth shut before they could escape. If he wasn’t sure, he wouldn’t have phoned her. She took a deep breath.
“Thank you, Fredrik.”
“I’m just doing my job. Someone will be there to keep an eye on things but you won’t know they’re there. Have a good time.”
“Fredrik ...” But he was gone.
Number withheld? Did he think she wouldn’t answer if she knew it was him?
She sighed, called Flora to let her know that their emergency backup plan, a pizza and Prosecco party at the Hall, wouldn’t be needed. She never felt less like a party but she went home to get ready.
Her father dropped her off at the spa at seven-thirty, so that she could check that everything was in place, take some photographs of the champagne standing in ice buckets, of the pool, still and inviting in the soft lighting, the array of nail colours for her Facebook page and blog.
The manager offered to accompany her, show her around, but she wanted a few minutes on her own, a moment of quiet but when she entered the spa there was a member of staff checking something in one of the treatment rooms. Or maybe not.
Security had checked the place, but what if someone ... Her heart stopped as she walked in and came face to face with Fredrik.
“I’m sorry. I planned to be out of here –”
“I’m early,” she said, not wanting him to apologize for doing his job. She made an awkward little gesture – this was so cringe-makingly embarrassing. “I wanted to check that everything was in place.”
“We’re both obsessive about the details.” He held up the gadget he was holding. “I was doing one last sweep for bugs.”
“Did you find anything?”
“Not this time.”
“And last time?” she asked, her heart sinking.
“They are safely locked away in my car. Every room in the place has been checked in the last hour. I’ve spoken to the staff, explained that whatever they’ve been paid is of no interest to me, but they will be scanned before they enter the spa and anyone found carrying a recording device will be dismissed on the spot.”
“That’s how you found them? Using a scanner.” She sighed. “I shouldn’t have tweaked Steve Pike’s nose on Twitter ...”
“This isn’t about anything you’ve done, Ally. He would have done this anyway.” He took another device from his pocket that looked exactly like a smart phone. “This is a spare.” He turned it on and, a tiny green light briefly appeared and then went out. “It’s on. Keep it with you and if there’s the slightest peep out of it, give me a call.”
“You’re leaving?”
“No. I’ll be here all evening in case whoever planted these turns up to see why he’s not getting any pictures.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m just doing my job.”
She shook her head. “Your job is to keep the royal family safe. Why are you here when you should be in London with Prince Carlo and Princess Anna?”
“I’m tired of hauling Nico out of nightclubs, watching royal backs.”
“Carrying their coats? Figuratively speaking,” she added.
He nodded. “I’ve done my duty. It’s time to move on.”
“You’re leaving the palace? What will they do without a Jensson to guard their backs?”
“My successor is taking care of things in London. I’m just staying to back him out at the wedding.”
“What will you do? Have you made any plans?”
“Something bigger,” he said. “Hope is looking for someone to head up her charity. Jonas asked if I would be interested.”
Hope for Children ...
Hope’s charity would provide support for children who look after their younger siblings and sick or disabled parents. Fredrik must have seen so much of that serving with UN forces in war zones. He’d have personal experience of the problem, understand what was needed.
“That’s certainly bigger,” she said. “Are you? Interested.”
“Maybe –” The sound of laughter reached them from the entrance and he looked up. “Your party has arrived.”
The only party she wanted at that moment was standing right in front of her but she just nodded.
“What do you want me to do with the evidence?”
Evidence?
“I took photographs of them in situ but maybe you should hang on to the hardware.”
“Oh, yes. Definitely one for the blog.”
“Be careful what you say.”
“I won’t mention any names. I won’t have to.” She slipped the scanner into her pocket. “Could you bring it over to the Hall tomorrow morning? Not too early.” He nodded, but as he headed for the door she called after him, “Fredrik ...” He paused, looked back. “If someone does turn up, call me.”
“What will you do?”
“Scare him to death with my facemask.”
And finally she got a smile.
Chapter Thirteen
Fredrik hadn’t called but when Max turned up to pick up Flora and Hope and a couple of women who were staying over at the Hall, Ally found him in the hotel lobby, still keeping an eye on things.
Ally went to sit by him for a moment. “You look exhausted. When did you last sleep?”
“It’s been a while,” he said. “Did you have a good time?”
“Yes, thanks to you.”
“Ally? Are you coming,” Flora called from the door.
“You’re not fit to drive, Fredrik. Do you want Max to run you back to Westonbury Court?”
“No need. I’ve got a room here.”
“Ally?”
“No thanks, Flora. I’m good.”
She laughed. “Oh, don’t be good, darling. A
fter all your hard work you deserve to be very, very bad. See you tomorrow.”
Fredrik woke just as it was getting light and discovered that Ally was beside him, her hair spread over his pillow, her hand looped over his waist.
He closed his eyes, opened them again and she was still there. Not a figment of his imagination.
As he propped himself on his elbow so that he could look at her, watch her sleeping, her hand slipped to his thigh and every cell in his body responded to the slide of her fingers over his skin.
He didn’t disturb her; sleeping beside a man demonstrated a trust far greater than anything given in the rush of sex and he treasured the moment for a while before bending to touch her lips with a barely there kiss.
“Hey there, Prince Charming,” she said, opening her eyes. “I’m Cinderella, remember, not Sleeping Beauty.”
“You weren’t asleep.”
“How did you know?”
He could have told her that when she was asleep he could see her eyes move beneath the lids as she dreamed, that there was a vulnerability that she concealed when she was awake.
“The corner of your mouth twitched,” he said. “Your hand moved.”
Not the unconscious slide of a hand slipping out of control but a teasing, come and get me touch.
“Busted,” she said, grinning as she turned in to him, taking him firmly in hand, returning his kiss with interest and then, when he was struggling for breath, she pushed him onto his back and straddled him.
“What did I do to deserve this?” he asked.
“You kept watch over us all night so I returned the favour and kept watch over you.”
“That’s all you did?”
“You were asleep before I brushed my teeth.”
“I’m awake now.”
“I noticed.”
He reached for her, but she slapped his hands away.
“Men always think that sex is about them,” she said, lowering her mouth to his and taking possession of it in a long intimate kiss and when she looked up her eyes were blazing like hot emeralds. “You heard Flora. This is my reward for all my hard work.”
“Help yourself ...” was all he managed before she took her mouth on a slow, tormenting exploration of his body. Mouth, tongue, teeth ... Her breasts brushing against his chest, his stomach ...